


Come Back

by prettycheese21



Series: Moving On [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt No Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post-Reichenbach, Reconciliation, Sherlock Being Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-08-31 11:31:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8576815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettycheese21/pseuds/prettycheese21
Summary: Sherlock finds you after he emerges from hiding, hoping to convince you to come back home with him. But it’s not that simple.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Surprise! It’s a sequel! And be warned, it is angsty. But what did you expect? A happy ending? Ha! Not yet! Enjoy!

   It had gone as was to be expected with John and the others, Sherlock thought. He had faked his death after all. He wasn’t expecting instant forgiveness as soon as they found out he was alive and well. He knew, by the standards of a ‘normal’ person, he deserved much more than the nearly broken nose he’d received as a welcome home present from John. Everyone’s reaction he’d predicted, on some sort of level. He figured John would have been more excited, but- if he were being technical- getting him worked into a rage could count as being ‘excited’ so he wasn’t necessarily wrong. Okay, he was sort of wrong on that part, but he was still right about the others.

    Well, at least, for all the others but you. You had yet to be told of his resurrection and Mycroft was leaving it up to him to do it. He’d put it into simple terms that summed up to mean: “Your partner, your problem.”

   That was why Sherlock took the first plane from the U.K. to France, where you had been working for almost two years. Tracking you down wasn’t the hardest part, actually it was arguably the easiest part of the whole process. Whoever said the Interpol had high level security on its private information has clearly never tried to hack into its database.

   No, the hardest part was making himself knock on the door of your new apartment, which would break the protective bubble you’d spent two years constructing.

   You answered the door as soon as you’d heard the knock. With a smile on your face, you greeted, “Bonjoir.” It took less than a minute for the pleasant smile to fall from your face as it registered who was standing in front of you. Blinking, your eyes took in the tall figure in front of you. A ghost from a not-so-distant past that you thought you’d left behind. “Sherlock?” your voice was meek and confused.

   “Yes?” he said back.

   “You’re… You’re alive?” You stepped out of the doorway closer to Sherlock, as if you were trying to see if he was real.

   He raised an eyebrow. “Of course I am. I don’t remember you being this dull, Y/N.” Before he could react, he felt the sharp sting of a hand across his face. He blinked, flexing his face, but remained otherwise unreactive. “You know, love, I called you worse things before we started dating and never got this kind of reaction,” he joked.

   “Is this a joke to you?” you asked him a low voice.

   “Actually, I find this to be-”

   “You died!” you screamed, not realizing or just not caring you were in the hallway, leaving your conversation open for all of your neighbors to hear. “I watched you get put in the ground and this is what you have to say for yourself?”

   “I didn’t tell you what I had to say for myself,” Sherlock clarified. “You made assumptions from nothing and made a rash judgement about me before I had the chance to speak.”

   You crossed your arms and looked at him, your eyes glazed with angry, unshed tears. “Then, by all means, explain yourself. Tell me what was so important that you let me believe for two years that you were rotting in the ground.”

   He checked over his shoulders before he said, “Maybe it’d be better if we discussed this inside.”

   At first you didn’t move, just continuing to stare at the man whom you’d loved once upon a time. The man who, if you were to be honest with yourself, you still loved underneath all the stabbing feelings of betrayal and rage. Realizing that it’d drive you insane not to at least hear the reason for his actions, you turned around and entered your apartment, knowing he’d follow in behind you.

*****

   You sat there stoic as you processed how the last two years of Sherlock’s life had gone. How he’d worked with his brother and other forms of top secret government you had no clearance to know about to take down Moriarty’s crime web. How he’d been forced to let his friends and family believe that he was dead for their safety and his. How he’d done all of this- put you through the five stages of grief and back- for the greater good.

   Admittedly, you understood. You’d felt your rage dissipate as he told you about a few of his escapades. He was only trying to do good.

   Yet there was also a part of you that couldn’t forgive him. He’d put you through so much that you felt you wouldn’t survive to the next day. Losing someone as you thought you had lost Sherlock was unbearable, with more questions than answers, which left you with more days filled with pain than anything else.

   “So,” he said as he stood up, clapping his hands together as he did so, and looked around your apartment, “Do you like working here? Do you find it fulfilling?”

   You shrugged, “It’s alright. I wouldn’t say it’s fulfilling, but I don’t hate it.” It was weird to feel… uncomfortable around Sherlock. It was weird for you to be unable to communicate with the man you’d once dreamed of spending the rest of your life with.

   “I thought you’d say that.” Sherlock effectively deduced where you kept your suitcases- on the top shelf of a linen cupboard- and was quick to pull them out. “Pack your bags. I’ll have us on the first plane back to London. And I know it’s going to take some time for you to come around, so I’ve arranged for you to stay with John.”

   “Sherlock, it’s not that simple,” you softly scoffed, taken aback by the audacity of his statement.

   “Of course it is.”

   “No, it isn’t. I can’t just up and leave my job. I… I have friends here.” You’d gone through the process of rebuilding a new life without him and now he wanted you to come back with him?

   “That’s what cell phones are for.” He turned toward the door to make his exit. “Now there’s much to be done back home, so I’ll be by in the morning to pick you up.”

   “No, Sherlock. I’m not leaving,” you told him firmly.

   “Well, why not?” He seemed confused. “You don’t actually like it here, do you?” When you didn’t respond, it gave him his answer. “Y/N, I need you back in London. John is busy with his wedding and now he’s insisting on actually practicing medicine, so I have no one to bounce ideas off of.”

    “Isn’t that what your skull is for?”

    “The skull is not nearly as good at providing proper feedback. Plus, you are significantly more pleasant to look at.”

   You ignored his compliment, pushing the warm feeling of affection down as you responded, “Be that as it may, Sherlock, I’m not just going to uproot my life because it’s inconvenient for you.

   “Well, why not? Why won’t you come back with me?” He desperately wanted to understand why you- the person who always used to run right after him on his crazy adventures- were being so hesitant to leave. You trusted him… didn’t you?

   “Because I can’t, Sherlock. I can’t just forgive you.” The words were blurted, rushed, but were enough to increase the tension in the room. “I… You died, Sherlock. I grieved for you. Do you know what it’s like to grieve for someone?”

   “Grief is the keen mental suffering-”

   “I’m not talking the scientific terms. I’m talking about trying to rationalize the irrational. I’m talking about the experience of all that science.” You shifted your weight, uncomfortable under his scrutinizing gaze, before you continued, “Do you know what it’s like to realize someone you love is dead? You know, when you wake up first thing in the morning and you wonder what the day is going to be like and then you realize… the person you wanted most to see that day is dead? They just don’t exist. You won’t ever see them or hug them or kiss them or talk to them again.” Your eyes were watering just thinking about those dark times. “Two years, I went through that. Two years of that and you expect me to just jump into your arms and run away with you back to England?”

   Sherlock fell silent as he listened to you. Watching you tear up- watching your expression contort into anger and sorrow- made him realize how much you’d been through since his departure. How much you’d changed. How much you’d grown. How much you’d adapted.

   He couldn’t logically expect you- the new you- to drop everything for him. He knew that now. And he illogically wished it wasn’t true, just as he wished it didn’t hurt him to do what he was about to.

   “No, I can’t,” Sherlock answered your question, his voice not giving away any of the things he was feeling.

   You both stood there in mutual silence as it seemed you reached a sort of agreement. Sharing a look that expressed the things that couldn’t be said, you finally told him in a quiet voice that didn’t hold the heat it had before, “I think you should go.”

   Sherlock simply nodded. Turning around, it took him only a few strides to reach the door. He stopped, with the doorknob in his hand, and said, “Take care of yourself, Y/N.” And with that, he was gone again. The ghost of your past had once again left you alone, your heart throbbing with grief.

   Only this time it had been on your terms.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Did you like it? Want more?  
> Let me know by leaving a kudos or a comment!  
> Want to request something of your own?  
> You can do that here in the comments or on my Tumblr page (@notsoobviousfangirl).
> 
> Thanks for reading :)


End file.
